


Hold It Against Me

by counterheist



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, Pickup Lines, brotalk in the bathroom, nameless drunken OC, nudgewink, prussia has good advice, spain is not the sharpest crayon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-20
Updated: 2010-07-20
Packaged: 2017-11-29 11:29:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/686461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/counterheist/pseuds/counterheist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><a href="http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/16221.html?thread=46091869#t46091869">From the kink meme</a>. Spain decides to ask Romano out. Wait, no, that's too difficult. Strike that. So: Spain decides to hit on Romano. Add Prussia-approved pick-up lines and a seedy bar, and Romano's diary has an entry it'll never forget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold It Against Me

“Hey Roma!”

The clink of ice hitting the edge of a glass. The soft swish of liquid moving past lips. The quirked eyebrow that meant that Spain had exactly three seconds of interrupting Romano’s downtime before Romano got somebody to throw him out of the bar completely. “What?”

Spain grinned as he was wont to, and looked at Romano expectantly. “Does this smell like chloroform to you?”

Romano’s jaw dropped. So did his drink, which was really a shame. He’d already paid for it. “Does what _what_?”

“Did I not say it right?” He’d spent five whole minutes in the bathroom of the bar, repeating the words Prussia had written down for him and practicing getting the right proportion of charm and promise in his smile. Spain had thought he’d been perfectly ready. How could he have gone wrong?

Romano blinked. “You’re not holding anything.”

“Oh.” That _would_ make that line make a little less sense. But it had been the only one he had practiced! Mind blank, Spain pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and scanned the words scribbled on it. _’Next one, next one…’_ No. It went without saying that he refused to use anything that involved pirates. _Without saying_. “Ah, your shirt is…”

Romano contemplated standing, dismissed the thought, contemplated demanding Spain shut up, silenced that thought as well, and settled on rubbing his forehead with his left hand while drumming an unhappy rhythm on the bar with his right. “What the hell are you trying to do?”

He was frowning, actively frowning, not that little downturn that his mouth usually stayed at when he wasn’t thinking about anything in particular. Or when there wasn’t a pretty girl in the area. All of a sudden, Spain was out of his depth. Out of his depth and awkward and terrified, because Romano was looking at him like he was crazy and not sexy at all. A blur of passing white caught the corner of Spain’s vision, and he took the excuse to get a little friendly revenge and get out of the situation all in one. “I’m just making conversation, Roma, ah ha ha. Oh look! There’s Prussia heowesmemoneybye!”

Romano blinked again. With purpose, because perhaps he’d gotten something in his eyes. He hadn’t _seen_ Spain drinking, so why was he acting especially idiotic ( _although Prussia owed everybody money, so Romano would let that slide_ )? Deciding not to bother with the idiot and his overflowing waves of idiotic idiocy any longer, Romano returned to brooding at the bar ( _partially because some pretty girls had entered the room and partially because stupid Spain had made him spill his drink, dammit_ ).

Back in the bathroom, Spain was less content to let things lie. The same could be said of Prussia, who was valiantly resisting having his head plunged into a toilet that looked like it hadn’t been cleaned since before Romano and his brother had unified. “Shit, Spain! What the hell, whatever you think it is that I did, West will apologize!”

Spain tightened his hold on Prussia’s flailing arms in response, and shifted his weight to better shove his friend down towards the pungent, watery depths. “You said you would help me.”

 _Closer_.

Prussia gulped. “And I did!”

Spain twisted Prussia’s arm back in a way it wasn’t intended to ever bend, and contorted his face into the smile he had worn for much of the sixteenth century. “It didn’t work.”

“That’s just because South’s got a stick up his—” _Closer still_. “I mean, he’s a tough one, South Italy.” Maybe if he distracted Spain, Prussia could make a break for it and hide underneath a table somewhere in the bar. Underneath a table with a lot of women sitting at it…

“He didn’t even look interested; just confused…” Spain sounded equally confused. Malice wearing away, he idly pressed Prussia’s head towards the toilet bowl. His heart wasn’t in it anymore, but his body carried through with the actions it had been performing previously. Usually Roma at least gave him a once-over, but this time he’d done nothing but gape. And not in the good way!

 _Prussia could almost feel the water against his face…_ “Maybe you did it wrong.”

Spain loosened his grip, and let Prussia stand. “Really?”

Sweet freedom! “Of course! Would I lie to you? Me?!” For good measure, Prussia exited the stall and made sure to let at least a meter of space stand between Spain and himself. Sometimes the past was hard to shake off, Prussia could appreciate that. Appreciate it, and deal with it appropriately by drinking a lot to drown his sorrows and not letting Spain anywhere near anything sharp.

“I guess not.” Spain joined his friend out in the main area of the otherwise empty bathroom. He clambered up to take a seat between two of the sinks and ignored that the surface stuck to his pants. “But why did he look so confused then?”

Who the hell knew what went on in the minds of the Italies? “Like I said, maybe your delivery wasn’t awesome enough.” Prussia wouldn’t have that problem, of course, but even though Spain was a friend and mostly pretty decent, Prussia had to say that sometimes he lacked on the delivery.

“I smiled.”

Fuck, what was _wrong_ with South? Prussia had seen that smile, thought of it during shitty weather and bad bouts of the past to make himself feel better. That plus the Prussia Approved list of the best pickup lines ever? “Maybe it’s just that stick up his— that is, maybe you didn’t use the right line.”

“But you said the first one was the best!”

Well, strictly speaking… “Of course not, it’s the _last_ one that’s the best!”

Spain cocked his head to the side. “Does it work for you all the time?”

Shit. Why did Spain always have to ask the tough questions? “Obviously! Eleven times out of ten! They can’t take their pants off fast enough after I use that line!”

“110%? That’s a lot…” And mathematically confusing. Spain didn’t let his mind sink too deeply onto that. “But I don’t just want to see Roma naked ( _it’s not that difficult_ ), I want—”

Prussia rolled his eyes and washed his hands, making sure to grab a paper towel before he turned off the faucet. The bathroom was a dump; shit, bitches needed to learn how to keep their spaces clean and orderly. “Yeah, yeah; picket fence, two and a half kids, handholding and screwing on the kitchen table. I know, I’ve read the books.” He’d also seen the shows, but Spain didn’t need to know that, because for all that Maria and Juan’s love was fucking awesome and destined, other people didn’t understand.

With a little effort, Spain unstuck himself from the counter and walked over to the restroom door. He hoped his expression conveyed sorrow, because hell if he was actually apologizing to Prussia. Even though Prussia was trying to help, his advice still hadn’t worked. “Then what should I do?”

“Use the last line.” Prussia emerged from the bathroom with damp hands and mussed clothes. Right after Spain, who had stained and sticky pants and a thoroughly unhappy expression. Hmm. There was a man, just some human, staring at them from across the bar. Normally Prussia would assume that he was aghast at the amount of awesome that had just stepped into the room. And yet… “But first, knock that guy out. See him? Over there? Wearing the blue shirt and being fucking annoying?”

There was a human in a blue shirt leering over at them. Probably because it looked like Spain had been screwing Prussia against the bathroom wall instead of shoving his head in a toilet. Spain would have chuckled if he’d been in a better mood. Misunderstandings could be so funny sometimes! “He looks like one of France’s. And he’s not causing any problems—”

“He called South a dirty slut.”

\- - - - -

“The fuck happened to you?”

Prussia swatted Spain’s fussing, apologetic hands away with his own ( _the one that wasn’t holding the ice pack_ ). “I tried ( _“I’m so sorry!”_ ) to stop him ( _“Can I get anything else for you?!”_ ) from hitting the guy ( _“I really didn’t mean to get you too!”_ ) the third time.”

Romano looked from Prussia’s soon-to-be purple eye and bloody nose to Spain’s red knuckles and embarrassed blush. He looked, and then he tossed a few Euros onto the counter and stood and left. Because not getting his change back beat out having to deal with the morons any more than was necessary.

Of course, Spain followed after him.

Followed him even after Romano began running through the streets, twisting and turning through side alleys he knew like the back of his hand ( _Although the area they were in was more like his ear, if one was to be technical_ ).

“Roma, wait!”

Romano sidestepped a speeding car with grace. “Stop following me!”

Spain vaulted out of the way just in time. “But I have something I need to tell you.”

“Leave a message.”

“But that’s not romantic enough!”

He must not have heard that right. He couldn’t have. “Why the fuck would it need to be romantic?”

Spain finally caught up to Romano at a crossroads between two dark streets. He almost grabbed Romano from behind into a hug, but thought the better of it. Romano could be surprisingly strong when there was even the hint of a threat of bodily harm. Spain settled on standing nearby.

“Fuck it all. Just say whatever stupid thing you needed to tell me and let me go home.” It had better not be a ten minute recap of some stupid ten second commercial, because Romano swore to all that was holy, if Spain did that twice in one week—

“Nice shoes,” okay, that wasn’t so bad. Romano’s shoes _were_ nice, because they had been made in Italy. Obviously. “Wanna fuck?”

_…?_

“Did Prussia slip you something tonight?”

If you counted the pickup lines… “Just some paper.”

“Sure he did. You know what? You’re obviously too wasted to get yourself home without dying in a ditch,” he grabbed Spain roughly by his upper arm and pulled. “Come on.”

Spain smiled and it was like night had turned into day. How did he do that? “Is that a yes?”

Bastard wasn’t as heavy as he usually was when he was drunk. Strange. “Yes to what?”

“Uh…” Spain wracked his memory, “do you come here often?”

Alright, something was wrong in Spain’s brain. More wrong than usual. “Walk faster, idiot. If you pass out here, I am _not_ dragging you back to my apartment.”

“I told you, Roma; I’m not drunk. On alcohol. I guess I’m, uh,” he fumbled and grabbed a crumpled piece of paper out of his back pocket, scanned it, and put it away again. “I’m not drunk, I’m just intoxicated on you.”

That was _enough_. Romano took his arm away from Spain’s shoulders and stopped in the middle of the alley. He wanted answers and he wanted them now, because if Spain had finally figured out that Romano kind of sort of maybe a little bit barely even had an enormous longing for him that he’d admitted to himself ( _it’s not denial if nobody asks!_ ) decades before, then Romano would have to run away very quickly and perhaps mail Prussia the body of a chicken because it was probably all his fault.

“Roma? Is there a reason why you’re backing away?”

Shit. There went the element of surprise. “Why do you keep saying that… those… why have you been doing that all night?”

So he’d figured it out! Maybe it wasn’t the way pickup lines were supposed to work, but at least now Romano didn’t think Spain was out of his mind. “Because I was reading your brother’s diary,” Romano almost tripped backwards, “because I couldn’t find yours,” Romano did trip backwards. Spain continued speaking as he ran to give Romano a hand. “Because I couldn’t find you!”

Romano didn’t need to say anything, because after centuries, Spain knew exactly which expressions meant that Romano needed clarification _now,_ or else.

“Prussia sometimes writes down where he’s going in his diary. And you weren’t at my house and you weren’t at your house so I thought maybe you’d written it down too!” He pulled Romano up from the cobblestones and into a loose hug. Romano smelled like unwashed streets and a smoky bar, much like Spain himself probably smelled, except he probably also smelled like the rancid bathroom he’d been threatening Prussia in, and…

“Are you smelling my hair?”

“…no.” Spain put his chin on the top of Romano’s head because even _he_ knew that sniffing someone’s hair without asking was really rude and kind of creepy. “Venecia said in his diary that you wanted to screw me over a table and hold my hand and that maybe you even loved me.”

Romano waited.

“And I thought it was perfect, because I want to do all those things too!” More like the reverse of the last two, Spain wasn’t such a narcissist that he wanted to love himself or hold his own hand. But he was pretty sure that Romano knew what he meant.

Romano kept waiting, because his mind couldn’t process what he had just heard.

“But Prussia said I couldn’t just go up to you and say it like that, so… one thing turned into another…” Spain trailed off. In his mind, it was Romano’s turn to speak, because Spain had had to do all the difficult things like confessing and picking-up by himself. And he’d done a damn good job, by his standards.

Romano finally realized what Spain had alluded to and promptly turned several shades of red and stepped on Spain’s foot so he could escape and back up to the opposite wall of the alley. “So you were trying to hit on me?” Spain nodded. “While sober?” Spain hadn’t stopped nodding from the previous question, so he just kept going to extend his agreement to the current. “…fine.”

Spain stopped nodding. “Really?”

Romano couldn’t believe it was happening like this ( _in his daydreams there had been awkward serenading and many more tomatoes_ ), but that didn’t stop him from going along with it. If Spain proved himself worth it, Romano could always force him to confess again, for real, in a much more romantic way. A way that he, Romano, could boast about to everybody who _didn’t_ get to tap Spain on a daily basis. Which would, of course, be everybody. “As long as you don’t screw it up.”

“ _So_ … your place or min—ow!”

**Author's Note:**

> The chloroform line is one of my favorites. What? I'm classy like that. And can't/couldn't resist pickup lines. At _all_. Not even when I had way too much else to do, and still do, kind of, actually, 100%. But deanoning this here instead, to celebrate the end of my summer classes! On to tourism! Europe, all your vital regions will be mine!


End file.
